


The Things We Did For Love

by hopelessbookgeek



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, These children are incredibly fucked up and need to be protected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want people to tell their children terrifying stories about the things we did for love.” No one had to tell the Freelancers anything, because they were the terrifying things the Director did for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Did For Love

**Author's Note:**

> "And I say to you someone will remember us/In time to come..."

“I want people to tell their children terrifying stories about the things we did for love.”

No one had to tell the Freelancers anything, because _they_ were the terrifying things the Director did for love.

***

Carolina was seven years old the first time she realized her father didn’t love her.

He cared about her; obviously he cared about her. He named her after the states his mother’s family called home, later would structure the code names of his entire organization around the given name of his only child.

But then her mother went away again, and he sat her down and told her to follow in her mother’s footsteps, be a big girl, be just like Allison.

Carolina knew what that meant.

_Stop being you._

_Stop being your own person._

_Be your mother and yourself, two in one._

So she did, out of obedience, because he taught her that was love.

***

“North, what’s more likely to get sent to the med bay? Concussion or broken foot?”

“What? I don’t know. Why?”

York shrugged, fingers playing around the holster for his gun. “Carolina’s still in there. They won’t let me in to see her. If I get injured too, they’ll have to let me in.”

North’s eyes widened. “Are you that stupid? Really? You know they’d call us if her condition changes.”

“I promised I’d be there when she woke up. I think I’ll go for the foot.”

“She won’t be happy that you did that. If you mess up badly enough, you’ll be removed from active duty.”

Another shrug. “Risks you gotta take, man.” He cocked the gun and pointed it at his foot.

***

Love feels a lot like violence, sometimes. The memory of a lost love strong enough that her name causes everyone in the immediate vicinity to scream in pain; a brother pointing a gun at his only sister; flinging the only memento of a friend up into an empty elevator shaft.

Love feels a lot like the anger that comes with seeing the last holographic journal entry of a boy who used to look at you with puppy eyes.

Love feels a lot like the obsessive memories that keep you wide awake in a cold sweat for years.

Love feels a lot like forgiveness that comes too late, and a hundred kisses never given, and sometimes, like committing intergalactic treason to remember her smile.

Sometimes love is leaving your pistol behind for the man who never taught you what love meant, anyway.

***

South begrudged North his AI, the mere existence of the thing, but she never begrudged that it was Theta. Maybe, if she was lucky, Theta would rub off on him, and he would learn to trust.

North was easygoing, trustworthy, but not an inherently trusting person. South knew that better than anyone, the way he talked to her like she didn’t know what she was doing better than he did, like she was too stupid to take care of herself.

When the Meta came, she saw her chance. She left him behind, her other half and maybe her better, and it felt like rebirth.

***

York always, somehow, found himself in North’s bed at the twilight hours when Delta wouldn’t let him sleep. “Fuck me like you love me,” he’d murmur, and that’s how North would wake up.

“Fuck me til it hurts.”

“Fuck me like I’m going to die tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to die tomorrow,” North would say, eventually, and York would shrug out of his shirt.

“Might. Never know. You want to be the last thing I experience before I die? Like you love me, remember.” It didn’t fix anything that was broken inside him, but then, nothing did.

***

If love was duty, then love was the pain of obedience. Love was the way your knuckles split during strength training, or the hollowness in your belly when you give up your rations.

Love was teeth-gritting anger, grudges nursed to the point of obsession. That was the legacy Leonard Church left behind for his only daughter. Love was pain. Love was pain. Love was–

When Kimball wrapped her arms around Carolina, Carolina leapt back as surely as if she’d been electrocuted. “What are you _doing_?”

She couldn’t see Kimball’s surprise under her helmet but it was in her voice. “I– I’m sorry, it was appreciation… I wanted to thank you–”

“Well, _don’t_.” Not like that, it wasn’t supposed to be like that, it was supposed to be cold and hard and make you ache in the night–

Let it never be said that Carolina didn’t learn her lessons well.

***

“Why did you do what you did?”

Court marshal. Waste of time, in Wash’s opinion. The Director was dead. The Project was dismantled. It didn’t matter anymore.

Why did he do it?

The way Carolina flicked her hair over her shoulder in the smallest of graceful movements; the way York’s good eye followed her wherever she went; the way North watched York.

Why did he do it?

Because he was ordered to; because killing felt good; because obedience is all there is.

Why did he do it?

So that there would be a legacy, so that he would not die alone and forgotten on some planet with a name he couldn’t pronounce. So that he would not be like the ones whose names no one even knew– Massachusetts, dishonorably discharged, or Rhode Island, killed in the field, or Alaska, who blew her brains out in front of the leaderboard.

Why did he do it?

Because what else was he going to do?

“Why does anyone do anything?” he answered, eventually. “Out of love.”

***

“I think I’m broken,” Wash confessed over a half-empty decanter of stolen whiskey.

Carolina stole it and took a swig. “Join the fucking club.”

“I mean it. The Director broke something in me and I’m never going to get it back. Am I always going to have nightmares? Am I always going to be this angry? Am I ever going to be able to fall in love?”

She looked at him with cold green eyes, his eyes. “Does it matter?”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this weird? I feel like this is weird. Please consider leaving me a comment with your thoughts!


End file.
